Love Is
by Aviv b
Summary: A late entry for Valentine's Day. Jack tries to make Valentine's Day special for Ianto.


Written for Comment Fic on LJ  
Rating: PG for some sexually suggestive poetry  
Prompt: Valentine, writing bad poetry and trying to keep it secret.

* * *

Shall I compare you to Zantheria's moon  
Or is this way too much too soon?

"_Not quite."_

How do I love thee.  
Let me count the ways  
I love you more  
Than Weevil sprays!

_"Why is this so hard."_

"Sir, have you finished those reports?"

Jack looked up, startled by the sound of Ianto's voice. He quickly covered up the paper on which he was writing.

"Uh, no, but I'll do that right now."

"Good and don't forget you've got a call with the PM in thirty minutes."

Jack sighed as he watched Ianto leave his office. Just once he wanted to do something original for Ianto but as usual, real life got in the way. The weevils seemed to know he had hoped for a few quiet days and started showing up in droves. The team hadn't had a quiet moment all week.

****  
It turned out that the rest of the day was busy as well. Four more weevil alerts and two glow-in-the-dark ghosts (kids fooling around with phosphorescent paint ) left the team exhausted. When they finally returned to the Hub, Jack sent everyone home except Ianto.

"I know it's late, I'm covered in weevil guts, and exhausted but I didn't want to let Valentine's Day get away from us," Ianto told Jack. He handed Jack a small box embossed with the name of an elegant jewelry store. Inside were a beautiful pair of silver and onyx cuff links.

Jack stared at Ianto like a deer caught in headlights. "Uh, yeah, Valentine's Day, kind of got away from me."

"You didn't have to get me anything, Jack. It's no big deal."

"No, I did get, well make you something, but it's not finished. I'll have it for you tomorrow, promise."

"No problem." Ianto kissed Jack and headed to the showers.

Jack frantically ran to his office, uncovered his poems and began to write. He scratched out some lines and wrote some more only to scratch those out as well. He finally used his computer and found exactly what he was looking for.

***  
Returning to Jack's office, Ianto was a bit surprised when Jack handed him a single piece of paper.

On it was written:

The things about you I appreciate may seem indelicate:  
I'd like to find you in the shower  
And chase the soap for half an hour.  
I'd like to have you in my power and see your eyes dilate.  
I'd like to have your back to scour  
And other parts to lubricate.  
Sometimes I feel it is my fate  
To chase you screaming up a tower or make you cower  
By asking you to differentiate Nietzsche from Schopenhauer.  
I'd like to successfully guess your weight and win you at a féte.  
I'd like to offer you a flower.

Ianto laughed. You're too late tonight, can I get a rain check on this?" Jack nodded.

Ianto shook his head in amazement. "I didn't know you could write poetry. This is, dare I say, innovative and avant-garde. You should get this published."

Jack suddenly felt very ashamed. "Uh, Ianto, I didn't actually write that. But I thought it suited us."

Ianto nodded. "Well it does, and it was my mistake assuming you wrote it."

"I did write some poems for you, but they're not very good. If I'd had more time…no even with more time, they wouldn't have been very good."

"Can I see them?"

Cringing inside, Jack handed his page of poems to Ianto.

Ianto read each one slowly, only commenting on one. "This one's very nice."

"I modeled it after a poem by Adrian Henri."

"I know, but it comes from your heart and that's what counts."

Love is…  
Love is chasing weevils in the night  
Love is you having my back in a fight  
Love is being with you 'cause it feels right  
Love is.

Love is facing danger that you dread  
Love is sharing a small and cramped camp bed  
Love is you with me when I wake from dead  
Love is

"You like it?"

"I love it."

As they retired to Jack's room, Jack reflected on how lucky he was to have someone in his life that understood him.

Ianto's thoughts were a bit less romantic. "_Did he really think I wouldn't know that other poem wasn't his? John Fuller was one of Lisa's favorite poets. Still that last one made up for all the rest."_


End file.
